Disconnected
by martianfairy
Summary: Jemma had lost her best friend, and what was worse, he still hoped she could be something more. Could she be? She didn't know, but after everything, she just wanted what was best for Fitz. She knew that wasn't her. Quick one-shot about why Simmons left. Fitz/Simmons feels.


"Hey Simmons, could you grab the, er, you know. . ."

"What Fitz?"

"It's just the uh, umm-" he closed his eyes and squinched up his face, like the answers were written on the backs of his eyelids, but he was just a little too far-sighted for them to come into focus.

"You can do it," Simmons tried to encourage him, "just-"

"No, I _can't_ do it!" he yelled, and avoided his best friend's—no, _more _than best friend's—too patient, too hurt eyes. "Nevermind, I'll just get it myself."

"Sorry." Jemma sighed, but it was a whispery and tired excuse for an apology. That conversation had gone just about as well as the other thousand she and Fitz had forced that day.

And yet, she still missed talking to him.

They were just feeling a bit disconnected, that was all, and she was determined to fix it. The problem was, her go to tech guy wasn't able to repair the connection either. . . and it was because of her. Well, her and their bloody pathetic excuse for a 'teammate', Grant Ward. There were a few other words she could use to describe him, but, unfortunately, they were all classified (she had found out the hard way that Asgardian curse words were actual curses).

"Fitz?"

His pause was a second too long.

"Yeah?"

Honestly, Simmons hadn't planned out what she was going to say next, she just couldn't stand to give up on talking with Fitz all together. There had to be _something_ they hadn't already talked about. . . or at least _tried _to talk about.

"Well, I. . .I was just thinking about- everything."

"Everything?"

"You know. . .everything and _us_."

She had to stop herself from wincing (or facepalming). So much for a casual, light, _normal_ conversation.

"Oh, u-us," he kept his eyes trained on the test tube in front of him."Err, what about it?"

"I just- what you said in the pod, I know that we were both stressed and, frankly, about to die, and I really- I understand if all that was the. . . adrenaline talking, it's a perfectly natural chemical process that happens all the time. So. . .yeah." it was her turn to look down at her work, pretending to read the centigram balance, but she could feel his eyes flicker to her.

She half hoped that he would agree with her. Only half (and that was the problem).

"No, no that- it definitely wasn't the adrenaline talking." Fitz tried to smile, but it was really more of a nervy lip twitch.

"Okay then."

Why couldn't she think of something better to say? Maybe Fitz wasn't the only one who lost communication skills out there in the ocean. Really, it seemed that the effects of oxygen deprivation were similar to those of emotional confusion.

_That's not fair. Quit being an idiot Jemma, think about how Fitz feels. _

She tried to come up with something better to say. Nothing came out.

So, Fitz spoke up, "I know that I'm. . .different now. We're different now. I can't always t-think like I could, and you can't always think for me. . ."

He took a deep breath, maybe taking a moment to recite whatever he was going to say next in his head.

"But Jemma, don't worry, I still remember that I- I-"

He couldn't seem to find the words, but this was one sentence Simmons had no problem finishing.

"Love you." She whispered, eyes glazed with tears.

Fitz nodded. A grin settled on his face, and not the sheepish cover up grin he gave when he forgot something, either. This was the real Fitz coming through.

Simmons should have smiled, or said something sweet back, or even bloody kissed him. That's what any decent person would've done. Instead she turned her back on whatever project she was working on (honestly she couldn't even remember) and walked out the door.

The last thing Fitz needed was to see her break down.

—

"Agent Simmons, are you sure about this?" Coulson asked from across his desk. His gaze was hard and piercing; it was like he was analyzing her motives, feelings. . . maybe even her soul—which, of course would be scientifically impossible.

"I'm absolutely certain. You asked for a volunteer that was willing to go on a mission for an extended period of time. _Away_ from Shield contact. I'm willing." She tried not to let any doubts or, heavens forbid, _fears _show in her face.

"You do understand that this is a deep cover mission? Frankly, you'll be inside Hydra with no guaranteed backup. It _will_ be extremely dangerous."

He might as well have said, _'You couldn't give a decent lie even if your life depended on it. Literally.'_

"Yes sir, I understand. I am perfectly aware of the situation, and am capable of facing whatever the mission involves." She swallowed a lump in her throat.

Coulson let a sigh slip out. "Simmons, I know there's been a lot going on lately between Fitz and rebuilding Shield, and that it's been hard, especially on you, but-"

"Sir, I don't think this is technically relevant. I am accepting the mission, are you going to brief me or not?"

At that moment, the Director of Shield wore a look of sympathy so deep that it would have been frowned upon in the organization's previous days. It was a look Fury wouldn't have given in a million years.

"You might want to grab a pen. There's a lot to go over."


End file.
